Harry Potter Meets Mordred Deschain
by GuesssWho
Summary: Harry Potter and friends come to MidWorld to hide from the Death Eaters. Dark Tower crossover, AU. Slightly cracked.


Harry Potter meets Mordred Deschain

Harry Potter and friends come to Mid-World to hide from the Death Eaters. Dark Tower crossover. Spoilers–you've been warned. Timeline: after TDT. Between 5th and 6th, HP. AU for TDT: in my weird little world, Mordred defected to the White side (sort of) and replaced Shardik. Sort of a songfic, but not really.

"Professor Dumbledore, where are we?" asked a boy. He had black hair, bright green eyes, and a scar on his forehead. He looked just like a hero, and I smiled. A new Traveler; how fun! He seemed more intelligent then Buffy had, too–not that that was hard.

"An alternate reality. The Death Eaters can't search _all_ worlds, so they won't find you unless they trace our path. You can stay here for a few days, then return."

"Wow," said a ginger-haired kid. "Blimey!" he added.

"Fascinating," said a brown-haired girl. "But aren't there natives?"

"Yes, there are," said the Wise Old Man. I knew he was a Wise Old Man because all weird, nearly-prehistorically-old-looking men with long white beards are wise. "But they are mostly harmless, and you can avoid the ones that aren't."

I laughed. "How? How would you recognize them, Travelers?"

They all pointed wands at me.

"Peace! Peace. I am Guide for those who would travel here–outworlders be common unto us."

"Is that so?" asked scar boy.

"That is so. My name is Mordred Deschain o' Thunderclap, _fan-gon_ son o' Roland Deschain, who was the last gunslinger o' lost Gilead. Hile, 'slingers!"

The cully smiled. "Hello, Mordred. My name is Harry–Harry Potter. These folks are Ron Weasley, Hermoine Granger, and Albus Dumbledore. Dumbledore is bringing us all to alternate worlds to keep us safe–the Death Eaters are raiding the area. But you wouldn't understand that, would you?"

"Nope," I said happily. "Now, I suggest that you ought to come to my home–that way, even if these 'Death Eaters' do find their way here, you won't be sitting ducks. It's only a cave, but it's better then nothing."

"You guys?" Hermoine muttered. "Did you notice that there are bones–human bones–in here?"

"Hell! There are, aren't there?" Harry said.

"Blimey," said Ron. "Blimey." I wondered, vaguely, if Ron ever said anything else.

I chuckled, coming up drogue them. "Don't worry about little old me–they were all cruel people. If someone tries to hurt me–or a friend o' mine–I can shape shift."

"You're a werewolf?" asked Ron

'_Finally,' I thought, 'something besides _"blimey"_! Wow! Amazing!'_.

"You're an Animagus?" Hermoine asked at the same time.

I looked briefly through their minds. "Somewhere in between–I was born this way. I can control it, though, so I'm closer to an Animagus."

"What animal?" asked Harry.

I searched their minds again. "Acromantula."

"Blimey," Ron said, again returning to his great multipurpose word.

I laughed. "'Blimey' indeed. You're afraid o' spiders, are you not?"

"How did you know?" he cried.

". . . legitimancy, you call it. I'm very skilled at it, always have been."

Hermione looked interested.

"_I can feel the thunder/Underneath my feet/I sold my soul for freedom/It's lonely but it's sweet/ So don't be afraid/Just close your eyes/Lay it all down/And don't you cry/Can't you see I'm going/Where I can see the sun rise/I've been talking to my angel/And 'e said that it's alright._"

"That's good singing," Hermoine said.

"Thankee sai."

I smiled at them and lay down.

When I woke up, they were still sleeping. I felt restless and went for a walk. I got back just as they were waking up.

Hermoine was humming to herself.

"_I have stood inside this _devar_/I have touched it's stony walls/I know before you try to run/You gotta learn to crawl/I tried to leave it all _drogue_ to me/In my dreams, somehow, I got away/But the walls o' the _devar_ still confine me/And I can't break, away._"

"Good morning, my dears."

"Good morning," they chorused.

"What's for breakfast?" asked Ron.

"Roast rabbit," I told him, holding up a mutie rabbit I'd caught–not hard, since it only had two legs, one in front, one in back. It was amazing it was full grown, but then again there are few predators here–they recognize me for what I am.

"Blimey!" Harry this time. "What's wrong with it?"

"The same thing that's hinky with most animals–this world is still healing from the battle 'tween my Fathers, not to mention the Bad Old Days. The Dark Tower which holds up all worlds is very close here, and this is a Keystone world, so injuries to the Tower make a huge difference here. My world is post-Apocalyptic, and most animals are mutants. Even a moit o' the people–we call them slow mutants. Mutant animals don't taste good, but most o' them are edible. This thing looks okay, so we eat it."

"Jeze," muttered Hermoine. "I have a bit of canned food, if you want–I planned for a world without food at all, just in case."

I grinned. "You eat that–I'll stick with the rabbit. I'm used to it."

And I ate it.

Harry was looking speculatively at me. "Can we see your other shape?"

"Very well." I shifted shape.

"Cool."

Ron nearly fainted. "Bloody Hell! You're larger then _Aragog_! You're larger then _Aragog_, and he was **_huge_**!"

'At least I can think and be rational,' I replied. 'Aragog was pretty much just cruel, yes?'

"Well, yeah," said Ron, "but it's an _irrational_ fear!"

Yes yes, I know I said, changing back. "But you shouldn't have it. Fear is a weapon–that's why propaganda starts wars. You should know that."

"_I_ know," Hermoine said, "and I've tried to tell them that, but they barely know what 'propaganda' even _means_, so it's pretty futile. I'm at the top of every class except Defense–Harry's best at that."

"Ah," I said, feeling confused. "I've never been in any class at all, you know."

They laughed. I laughed too, feeling rather better.

"Why are people afraid o' spiders?" I wondered aloud.

"What are you afraid of?" Hermoine replied.

"Parents," I muttered.

She laughed. "Really?"

I shrugged. "Well, I have a very unusual family. My White Dinh and Black Mia both shot me once. My Red Dinh hated me but never met me, and my Gray Mia died in childbirth. They all hated me save the last–but she was a psychotic succubus, and hardly counts."

"_. . . Oh, it's enough to be on your way/It's enough to cover ground/It's enough to be moving on/ Home, boy; build it behind your eyes/Carry it in your heart/Safe among your own!/They brought her back on a Friday night/Same day I was born/We sent her up the smokestack, aye/And back into the storm/She flew up over the San Juan mountains/She spent herself at last/The threat o' heavy weather/That was what she knew the best!"_

I chuckled again.

"Did you write that?" asked Harry.

"No–I found it scrawled on a wall, 15 wheels from here. Most o' the songs I like are actually very old–I find them written on bits o' paper, scratched on scrap metal and painted on boulders. I sometimes think that my world is the world that will be created if one o' your worlds really _is_ destroyed; that it's _all _an End-World. Even Out-World is an End-World– we're in outer Mid-World at the moment, by the way. Geography is a 'plexed and puzzling thing, nowadays, but it can be managed now that the Tower is healing. I wish Gilead hadn't fallen, you know? It was a good place, by my Father's accounts."

I began to sing 'St. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band'–a song sung in every bar from Mejis to Calla Bin Sturgus.

Hermoine gaped. "What the–how do you know that?" she cried out. "That's the Beatles!"

"The who?"

"A Muggle music group from about 30 years ago," she said. "Very popular in some areas."

I gaped right back at her. "That's at least 3,000 years old," I told her. "It's sung in every bar in this world. It's as old as 'Hey, Jude'!"

She began to laugh. "'Hey, Jude?' that's no older then . . . then 'St. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band'. Jesus, we _are_ your past, aren't we?"

I shrugged. "This is a possible future, I suppose. One o' _delah_–all futures and all pasts are out there somewhere. But your world is likely 'before' mine by _delah_, _delah_ years, aye." I thought a moment. "Mayhaps this is the future if your 'Voldemort' wins, hmm?"

She gasped. "Maybe. You've never seen _healthy_ land, have you? Radioactive air and prehistoric tales of wars that caused them–that's all you know."

I nodded. "Yes–and the Tower. The Dark Tower is the . . . the pin, you might say, that holds our world, and all worlds, together. I am a protector o' the Tower while it heals, fighting those who would destroy it.

"_The-ere is a balm, in Gilead/That soothes the sensitive so-oul! The-ere is a balm, in Gilead/ That makes the wounded whole!_ My father was from Gilead, you know."

"Wait. That one song–balm in Gilead–is actually very old. I wonder what that means. If all the new songs are old, but Gilead is in living memory . . . weird."

I nodded. "Yes. On the other hand, my father lived longer then most–he was o'er 500 when he died, by all accounts." I frowned then, listening–mentally, as well as with my ears. There was a 'sound' outside, but most local creatures knew better then to come near _me_! I sent out my mind. "There are men approaching. Evil men, and they are looking for you!" And I shifted again.

"What?" cried Harry. "How do you know?"

I can feel their minds. They are Death Eaters, and they want you. I 'grinned' mentally. Stay here. I will fight them, but if any pass by me, you must kill them. They'd kill you, though, so don't feel _too_ bad I added.

I left the cave.

The men were wearing jet black robes–much like the children, I thought, but they also wore hoods to hide their faces. 'Outlaws,' I thought. 'Regulators. Renegades from the wastes.'

'Leave!' I spat. 'Leave now and I will not hurt you, but if you stay then I will eat you up. I'm in a killing mood, and you would be fun to play with.'

They stared. "That's an acromantula!" one cried. "How did an acromantula get here?"

Another laughed at him. "It only looks like an acromantula, fool! Any _magical_ world that has _spiders_ will eventually come to have **_magical spiders_**–Good Lord, what stupidity. Besides, acromantulas aren't telepathic."

I licked my lips. 'Are you leaving, or not?' I asked. 'I'm getting **_hungry_** . . .'

The laughing man came up to me, a smile worthy of Randall Flagg on his thin face. "May I ask a boon?" he questioned me.

'Yes–one.'

"Tell me–have you seen three children come through here?"

'Do you think they'd be alive if I had?'

He laughed again. I was beginning to hate that laugh. "No, I suppose not. Well, see you later then."

The men turned away–and I shot spiderwebs at them, trapping them. I 'grinned'. 'Did you really think I would let you leave?' I sneered. 'I'm hungry, and you look so tasty . . . mayhaps I'll have an early lunch, hmm?'

Laughing Man gulped, wide eyed. "Listen; if you let us go, I'll make you a feast! I'm a wizard, I can make things out of thin air!"

I chuckled, although in spider form it was more o' a chitter, with a touch o' buzzing added in. 'I daresay you'll make just as good a feast this way as any other,' I said. I began to roll out more webs–trapping them fully, so that all but their heads were caught in it. 'The only thing I've had today is a rabbit. I don't even _like_ rabbit!' I paused. 'What is your name, Laughing Man?'

"M-Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy. Why?"

'I think I like you, Mr. Malfoy. 'I'll keep you around awhile–for boredom's sake, if nothing else.'

"Oh. Oh, great," he muttered. "Hell."

I turned to the man who'd thought I was an acromantula. 'Time for lunch, I think.'

I took the other men back to my cave.

'Thankee for coming here,' I said to the 'children'. 'You brought a moit o' fun people along after you!'

"Umm . . . yeah. Sure," said Harry. "What will we do with them?"

'I'm going,' I replied, 'to have a snack.'

"Stop!" cried Hermoine. "I never thought I'd say this, but no one deserves _that_."

I shrugged. 'So? I'm hungry. Rabbits are hardly enough food for a creature my size, after all. And my metabolism is very fast in spider-shape.'

Ron snorted. "I say we let him do what he wants–they'd kill us happily, if they could!"

'Wise move.' I shrugged, inasmuch as a spider can shrug. 'But I understand what you're saying, Hermoine . . .' I laughed. 'I guess I'll let them live: you can bring them back to your world for punishment.'

Harry looked at the faces to the trapped men."Just one thing; keep _her_ here. She killed my godfather –the only real family I ever had. She doesn't deserve to leave," he added bitterly.

Very well.

The woman screeched. "Damn you, you little idiot! This thing won't let you go any more then it let us go! You're going to die, and our Dark Lord will save us!"

I chuckled. 'Can your Dark Lord e'en see us, out o' all the random possible worlds? Can he find us in time to save your life? Does he even care enough about you, that he would risk it? I doubt it.' Turning to the 'children', I hissed, 'Get your things and go, before the weather changes! There's a storm coming soon, you know–there usually is, in All-World. The Beams are wounded yet.'

I grinned at the bound woman, then began to tidy up.

"What are you doing?" she spat at me.

I smiled at her. 'Fixing things up, that's all. Putting back the stuff I lent them.' I smiled nastily. 'I think I'll like you. You look tasty.'


End file.
